


Moving On

by Ralkana



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Backstory, Character Development, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-08
Updated: 2012-10-08
Packaged: 2017-11-15 21:42:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/532081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ralkana/pseuds/Ralkana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>FBI Agent Phil Coulson takes the next step toward his destiny.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Moving On

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Maquis_Leader](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maquis_Leader/gifts).



> This was written for my good friend, [Maquis Leader](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Maquis_Leader/pseuds/Maquis_Leader), on the occasion of her last day at her old job, and her first day at her new job. Good luck, hon!

 

Agent Phil Coulson of the Federal Bureau of Investigation looked around his empty cubicle. There was nothing he wanted, and he had no overflowing box of personal possessions to schlep home with him. He opened the top drawer of his desk and pulled out the only thing that mattered to him.

The card was framed in Lucite, untouchable, unbreakable. Captain America #1, first series, first card, and he slipped it into his pocket, for once not caring about how it ruined the line of his suit.

He stood, making sure that his tie was straight, his collar was perfect, and the creases in his trousers fell correctly. He was not about to make this last walk looking like a slob. He pushed his chair beneath his desk and left the cubicle without sparing it a backward glance.

The bullpen was nearly empty this time of the afternoon -- his fellow agents were mostly out in the field, some of them actually working, but most of them probably out enjoying an early Friday night.

No one glanced at him as he walked by -- to them, he guessed, he was already a ghost. He thought about his short Bureau career as he walked toward the agent in charge's office.

He'd truly thought the FBI would be his chance to make his mark. He'd gone straight from high school into the army, into the Rangers, and from the Rangers directly into college. He'd been finishing up a double major in American History and Criminology when the Bureau had come calling, and he'd jumped at the chance to be part of something larger, at the chance to perhaps do some of the same kind of good he'd done as a Ranger.

Phil had found, to his dismay, that most of the agents around him were not possessed of the same ideals his grandfather and parents had drummed into him since birth. They were petty, ambitious, and backstabbing, all of them vying for position and promotions and the corner office with the frosted glass door that said Special Agent in Charge under their name, doing only the work that was minimally necessary, and being equally happy to take credit that wasn't theirs and toss aside blame that was.

Worse, once they actually gained the offices, the SACs seemed to rule their divisions like tiny fiefdoms, doing everything they could to hold onto their power, much to the detriment of the agents below them.

Phil had no idea if this was a Bureau-wide phenomenon, or just the situation in his own little backwater field office, but he was sick of it, and he no longer wanted to be a part of it, and he had had no compunction expressing his displeasure to the agents above, below, and around him.

He'd been on the range, working off the anger from the second disciplinary report for insubordination that had found its way into his file when he'd had a visitor.

Tall and bald with an eye patch and in a long leather coat, he'd looked like a reject from a pirate movie casting call, and he'd surprised Phil badly enough that the young agent had turned his service weapon on him, unerringly aimed center mass.

The man had glanced down at the gun and then back into Phil's startled, sweaty face, seemingly unconcerned.

"Agent Coulson," he'd said, his deep voice calm and unruffled, "I'm Nick Fury. I'd like to speak with you regarding interagency cooperation and cross-training."

They'd had coffee, or what passed for it in the range's break room, and what the man had said had been intriguing, and startling, and at times completely unbelievable. But there was something about Fury that made it all seem possible, so he'd nodded, and shaken the man's hand, and now here he was, knocking on his SAC's door.

The exit interview was quick and painless, and tainted by a complete lack of respect on both sides. Phil signed the necessary papers, handed over his shield and his service weapon, and left without shaking the man's hand.

He was escorted to the front door by a single junior agent -- a sign of trust. Phil hadn't been dismissed or disciplined out; he was leaving of his own free will, and he nodded his appreciation at the kid as she left him at the front door.

He stepped out into the sunshine and slipped his sunglasses over his eyes. It occurred to him belatedly that he was going to have to find his own way home now that he no longer had access to the Bureau's motor pool.

He was just trying to figure out his next step when a shiny black car pulled to the curb in front of the Bureau offices, stopping directly in the spot clearly marked _No stopping at any time_.

The back door swung open and Fury leaned out. "Need a ride, Agent Coulson? It'll give me a chance to show you your new office. I think you'll enjoy the view."

Phil slipped into the car beside Fury and quietly thanked the junior agent acting as their driver.

He glanced once more at the unassuming facade of the Bureau building before looking at the man who sat beside him, looking completely relaxed despite the fact that his legs were clearly too long for the car.

Phil didn't honestly know what he was destined for, but he had a feeling that if he stuck with the man beside him, he might just end up being a part of something amazing.


End file.
